Christmas, Enneagrams, and Someone's Rectum

How sad is it that it isn't even halfway through September and I'm already dreaming about Christmas stuff? I'm really just a firm believer in the discontinuation of this awful Oklahoma heat and the beginning of a beautiful relationship with the crisp, mesmerizing presence of fall. I need sweaters and jeans and boots and for the urge to drink large quantities of hot chocolate to be completely acceptable. Also, I already need a break from this school stuff. Can we say "September sucks!"?

But in all seriousness, I'll probably be complaining about the cold weather come late October and early November because that's pretty much how I run this shit. I complain about one thing and complain about the complete opposite later. I am never quite satisfied with anything unless you're talking about Sour Patch Kids. In that case, I am always satisfied as long as I have them. (BTW, it's been what? 2 weeks without SPK. Dying over here, people!)

So, in my Men and Masculinity class that I'm taking for my minor in Women/Gender Studies, we recently took Enneagram tests to find our Enneagram types. I originally got a 5 as my type, but my instructor told me I am definitely a 6 based on looked at my face. That probably makes a lot of sense because 6's are basically the poster children of anxiety. Both types fit me perfectly, so perhaps I am actually a 5.5 type. And I had Julia take it and hers fit her perfectly. So, I honestly think everyone should take the damn test. It's normally freaky accurate and you may realize some new things about yourself in the process. Just, trust me, okay? And if you're one of those shitty people that I love that I asked to take it, get on it, or I'll be forced to dominate you like a beast.

In other news, once again I am being forced to write a short story. I'm sure at least one of you remembers the last time I attempted writing a short story (BE REMINDED BY CLICKING HERE BITCHES!). And sure enough, I am yet again experiencing great turmoil over this piece of crap. And, mind you, my current assignment is due.... TOMORROW. So, yeah, while I'm writing this, I should actually be working on my story, which will probably turn out to be a mediocre, hard piece of shit that's stuck in someone's rectum. 

However, this time around, I'm using my own interests and making it a bit spicy, so maybe it won't come out soooo terrible. It'll just be terrible. Too bad no one will ever get to read this ever (unless you're my professor, of course). That's how raunchy it is. But I always keep it classy, guys. Don't worry.

(I'm really going to need a little something-something to drink after all this, though)

As for the next assignment, which is due somewhere in October, I should probably start working on
that immediately so I don't end up waiting until the very last minute to pop something out. After all, my grade depends on my ability to pop good shit out. Ain't nobody got time for hard, mediocre pieces of shit!

My only motivation is that I know I'll be able to watch Smallville all weekend after I finish this. Someone, bring me a beer! 

You and Me and My Erotica

As of recently, having discovered where the real money is in writing, I've decided I'm going to pursue the great art of erotic paperbacks (yes, you know, the ones grocery stores stick in the corner by the magazines and coloring books). Despite my own lack of sexual allure, I've read enough Hancest (Hanson incest) fan fiction and I've spent like 4 years on Tumblr, so you know, I know about the sex. It really can't be that hard if you really think about it. I mean, Fifty Shades of Grey, which originally was written as Twilight fan fiction, got published and has sold like one bagillion copies. So, what I'm thinking is I have to get in on that sweetness because money.

So, you might be thinking that I am totally not the person to be writing such filth, and I definitely agree with you on that. Like, what do I know about romance or making the sex happen? I'm 20, perpetually single, and only attract guys who religiously watch Doctor Who. That's not enough credibility to make me a candidate for such a career, but seriously.

So, what's my game plan? Well, pretty much, I have a four-step plan for my success as an erotica novelist.



1. Read lots of bad erotica to get a grasp on plots and writing techniques. Plus, I really need to find out where all the hot Fabio-esque models are, so I can have the absolute best men on my covers. That's
probably the real key to making money off these pieces of literature. Just saying. The secrets are in the lush, blonde locks. 

2. Create a cool, sexy pen name because there is no way I'm putting my name on this trash (plus, my name just wouldn't look good on a book. That's why I need to get married soon and get a new last name. WHERE ARE MY SUITORS?). Once I have a cool, sexy pen name, the rest will come magically.

3. Write erotica. Yeah. Pretty much. And, honestly, I'd probably write all of them while listening to the only sexual song of my youth. Yes, I'm talking about "Digital Get Down" by NSYNC. Shhh. I know. I don't know why I was allowed to listen to that either.

4. Make so much money they actually have to bring it to my house in wheelbarrows and put it in those cloth sacks with big green dollar signs on them. I'll finally be able to afford to over-compensate for my lack of sexual allure with tons of money.

See? It's totally a great plan.

The sad thing about all this is that I would probably write some really fantastic erotica if I actually sat down and tried. So, maybe one day. Perhaps, sooner than anyone thinks.

But you may never know because of my sexy, cool pen name. Then again, I might give myself away with all the references to the steamy cage scene in LOST. But that might just be coincidental. You don't know my life!